Mordred and Sephora
by notanyold-annie
Summary: Romeo and Juliet applied to Hogwarts during the year 1570-1577. Mordred is your typical Slytherin, purity in all of his essence. Sephora was a rarity, a Gryffindor born from a witch and a muggle. They had to meet in a time where prejudices ruled.
1. Prologue

_ Two houses, both alike in dignity,__  
>In fair Hogwarts, where we lay our scene,<br>From long held grudge break to new mutiny,  
>Where magic blood makes magic hands unclean.<br>From forth the dormitories of these two foes  
>A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life;<br>Whole misadventured piteous overthrows  
>Do with their death bury their houses' strife.<br>The fearful passage of their death-marked love,  
>And the like continuance of their houses' rage,<br>Which, but their student's end, nought could remove,  
>Is now the too long traffic of this page;<br>The which if you with patient ears attend,  
>What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. <em>

_-_altered from Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet_

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><p>An: if this idea seems interesting at all to you, please review. :) if not, don't waste your time, please.

On another note, I am not going to bother speaking in old english or anything like that, so you don't have to worry. It'll be during Elizabethan times, so muggles are still pretty superstitious about witches. Just a forewarning.

Hopefully, you find this idea as fascinating as me. (I just really didn't want to write a Rose/Scorpius fic... haha) It just hit me one day...


	2. Chapter 1

An owl landed on the window sill of the shamble that Sephora Jacobson lived in. Her father was out in the fields and her mother was by the stove on the other side of the room. She approached the owl, curious. A piece of ribbon tied a scrap of parchment to his foot. She quickly untied it and opened the letter. Fanciful calligraphy glared up at her, but she only recognized one thing on the page, her name. It was one of the few things she knew how to write. She ran her finger down the rough parchment, wondering why such a pretty document had her name on it. She headed over to her mother.

"Mother?" she asked. Her mother had been stoking the fire with her wand but she stopped and turned around. Sephora held the letter out. The woman wiped her hands on her apron before grabbing the letter. As her eyes moved slowly over the page, lacking practice, her face began to tense. A little crease appeared in between her eyebrows.

"Not you to…" she mumbled. "I had seen… but I hoped…" She threw the letter into the fire.

"Mother…?"

"Don't worry, Sephy dear. The stew is almost ready. It should last the next few days until father goes into town."

"But-"

"Sephora. The letter was just nonsense, alright?" The little girl reluctantly nodded and headed back to the bed where her mending sat. Her fingers quickly and evenly patched the holes in her father's shirt. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead and turned towards the window. The owl still sat there, its large yellow eyes staring at her, waiting. She reached out a hand and scratched right between its ears. It let out a little coo. Sephora worriedly turned towards her mother, but the older woman hadn't heard it. Sephora sighed when suddenly she realized the owl was waiting for some sort of reply. She ripped off the corner of her skirt, no one would notice another ragged edge, and began to methodically stitch it with the leftover thread from her mending. Soon she was finished embroidering the cloth. She tied it around the owl's ankle where the letter had been. She smiled at the owl. The owl hooted and then flew off. She had written the only thing she knew how: her name. She watched the bird fly away until it became a speck in the sky.

Mordred Blishwick sat impatiently at the writing desk, waiting for his father to arrive. His Hogwarts letter had arrived today like he knew it would. He smirked with pleasure for a few moments before his face reverted back to its scowl of impatience. His father had said he would come back once he had written the reply but that had been what seemed like hours ago. Maybe he got taken away on manor business… which would not be good at all for Mordred, for he was not allowed to leave his chair until his father arrived. _If only I had my broomstick,_ he thought. He titled the chair onto its backs legs and began to imagine himself flying up in the air, a quaffle in his hands… Suddenly his bottom was not touching the chair at all, but as soon as he realized this he dropped back down. He had not meant to do that. He needed to get better control or else his father would punish him. He shuddered at the memory of past punishments, but immediately straightened his face and stiffened his body. The emotionless stance that had been ingrained into him since birth was well trained.

That is when the door opened. A house-elf entered. He wore a dirtied smock covered in suspicious red stains. His eyes stayed on the floor.

"Sir, the Master wishes me to tell Master Mordred, sir, that he is sorry but he has other business to attend to, sir, and that Master Mordred may stand up, sir." The frightened creature made a quick bow before he disappeared from the room. Mordred sat for a moment more before standing up and stretching. He enjoyed the freedom of movement before he, eager to fly around, then ran out of the room to head for his broom.

That night while Sephora lay on her cot her parents lay on their own bed, arguing. The hushed whispers easily entered her ears for the night was quiet. They weren't as quiet as they could have been, but they thought she was asleep. She fiddled with the end of her blanket, uncomfortable and confused by their words.

"Judith… Why do you insist on continuing this silly of magic of yours? It will do nothing but encourage our daughter to stray from the path of a good child."

"But it is in my blood. I gave up my family for you; do you expect me to give up my blood?"

"Yes. Everything yours is now mine. It is a wife's duty to give all to her husband. But since you aren't able to give me your magic, it needs to be gotten rid of!"

"What if I say that a letter arrived today confirming Sephora's own blood."

"No. You are bluffing."

"I am not." A slap echoed through the night. Sephora shuddered in her bed.

"Why didn't you tell me right away?" It came out in a hiss as he tried not to be too loud, but his voice rose anyway. "She is NOT going to Hogwarts! I refuse! We cannot even afford it!"

"But we could. I am sure my family would sponsor-"

"Why would they? They abandoned you."

"But-"

"No more arguing. Sephora will continue this path. I will start negotiations with Mr. Sharman. He was mentioning what a fine young lady our daughter was growing into." Sephora understood what those words meant. Her father wanted to marry her off to a random old man. Some random old man with money that her father would benefit from was all he wanted for her. It was something she had accepted her whole life, but now with the possibility of escape slipping through her fingers it hurt all the more. She wanted to be loved by her father. A tear ran down her cheek, but she stopped herself from making any sounds. She pulled the blankets close, fisting the edges, dreading the coming of morning.

In the owlery of Hogwarts an owl rested after a tiring journey. The silly girl that had tied the message onto his foot had tied it too loosely so that he had to fly very carefully to keep it on. He had found it very troublesome. Despite the amount of effort he was not welcomed with open arms. When he had tapped his beak on the window, all he received was a stream of curse words and sparks from the Headmaster. He had tried tapping again and this time the window was blown open. The cloth was blown off of his foot and he barely grabbed it before it floated down into the waters of the lake.

"WHAT?" yelled the frustrated man. The owl spit the scrap out of his mouth onto the man's hand. The old man calmed down and instead became curious. He untied the cloth and let the owl fly off to the owlery. "Sephora…? Ah, yes. That is the halfblood child of the youngest Gamp child if I recall correctly… or she was a decade ago. She must be eleven around now. Did we send a letter to her?" A few of the moving portraits nodded behind him. "This will be somewhat troublesome…." He looked curiously at the name. Was this an acceptance? He decided it was and set it in a drawer with the rest of the acceptance letters and added her name to the list. "I assume she will want to be picked up… What a troublesome thing. Why didn't she write more?"

"She probably does not know how to write," piped in a bald man from his portrait.

"Or read for that matter," said another, rather large man.

The Headmaster grumbled some to himself about uneducated children. And then he remembered no mention of payment had been made. "I guess I will have to contact the Gamp family. Such a wretched family, but rich." He let out a sigh. "Hopefully they will sponsor the girl, that Judith married a poor muggle man. I have no slight delusion about their situation." So, Marconius Maudit began to write a letter.

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><p>An: if this idea seems interesting at all to you, please review. :) if not, don't waste your time, please.

Also. I do not claim any part of the making of Rowling's world. Though many of the details are mine, the basic premise is hers. Oh yes, I am not Shakespeare either, sorry. :P

If I ever get anything wrong about the time period or just magic in general, please tell me. I am trying to do my best, but I may mess up at times. :)

Oh, and thank you to **Bookworm181** for reviewing. :D

Until next time...


	3. Chapter 2

Sitting at the table, a whole feast of the freshest fishes, breads, and cheeses, Mordred was still not satisfied, his leg bouncing under the table. The thestral carriage was arriving today to take him to Hogwarts. It would be a three day journey, but the view from the flying carriage was worth the aching back and bottom. He had to ride in a school carriage because his father had some "wizard council business." Mordred was not exactly sure what that statement meant, only that is was a thing of great importance (which he could only tell by the fancy clothes his father put on that morning).

The one detail that did bother him was that he had to share the carriage with other students, probably the poorer wizards who would whine and try to befriend his money. He sighed. He wanted to quickly be around those who were the same rank as him so he could make friends with ease, though even his father still had trouble making friends. Secretly he thought it was because his father in general was not very nice, but he thought himself to be a more kind person. Which was most likely an egotistical thought on his part, but well intentioned.

The carriage arrived when the sun was at its zenith. His mother walked him to the door, stiffly kissed him on the cheek, shrunk his bags, placed them in his pocket, wished the eager boy good luck in his schooling adventures. It turned out that the boy was the first stop of the carriage. The second and third stops were in a small town named Godric's Hollow. The name implied greatness, but Mordred only thought the town to be quite Muggle like, no very magical qualities in the air. Two small, pureblood boys got in the car, both extremely talkative and excited. Sensing that Mordred did not want their conversation they turned towards each other and found much better company.

Sephora swept the dirt floor of her home stopping now and then to ponder the meaning of doing such a useless chore. But she couldn't disobey her father, especially when it involved not having to be outside. Though the inside chores were beginning to get quite suspicious to her. She wondered if he were trying to prepare her for Mr. Sharman. Her eyes drooped at the thought. As much as she disliked her life, she would like it even less being married to that man. A knock came at the door. She dropped her broom and made her way to open it. A jolly man in a cloak stood on the other side.

"Excuse me, miss," he said with a flourish. "But the carriage awaits you." Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened.

"T-to where, sir?" she asked, flabbergasted.

"To Hogwarts, of course." He looked at her, a bit nervous at her response. "You are Sephora Jacobson, descendant of the Gamps, are you not?" She nodded and he smiled again. "Well then, get in the carriage. Where are your things?" She looked back at her room and grabbed her small sewing box, the only thing in the house that was hers.

"Right here," she said, her shoulders lifting as she approached the carriage. The man opened the door for her and she entered, ready.

Mordred was not sure about the girl standing next to him. First, she was not wearing robes. Instead, she was wearing a rag tag dress with thousands of patches. Secondly, she had no wand. Why had the wandman not come to her house? Did her parents forget to ask them to? The Professor that greeted them had told them to take out their wands because it was part of the sorting process this particular year. (She spouted off some reason about some hat catching a cold of some sort.) But she did not have one, so she was going to get sorted at a different time. There were sixteen of them total, Hogwarts did not have a scholarship program at the time, and most were from rich pureblood families. There were only three half-bloods among them and no completely muggle born, though Mordred had heard rumors of a mudblood at school. And this leads to the third point: she had a muggle father but came from one of the most noblest families, Gamp. Mordred had slight suspicions that her magic would be weaker because of it. His father had told him that magic and muggles do not mix.

But above all of the aforementioned reasons, one stood out quite prominently. Despite her lack of status or wealth, she seemed quite happy. Mordred could not comprehend this. A bright smile lit her face up as they entered the great hall. Mordred was quite confused.

Sephora watched as each of the different boys and girls were called up. An old man would look at their wands then mutter a slight incantation. The wand would then spurt out an array of multi-colored sparks until it settled into one. Three went to Gryffindor, five went to Slytherin, four went to Ravenclaw, and three went to Hufflepuff. Sephora stood there a bit, awkwardly, not knowing what to do with herself. The Headmaster noticed this.

"You. Young lady." She looked up. "What do you think you are doing not being sorted?"

"I do not have a wand, sir." Comprehension settled on the man's brow.

"I see. So you are the daughter of Judith Jacobson nee Gamp. Can she not afford a wand?"

"I'm not sure she wanted me here, sir."

"Indeed." He scratched the back of his head. "We need to contact your benefactors. After dinner report to my office. Professor Clark will lead you to it." The man turned to head to his seat.

"But, sir," he turned around "where am I supposed to sit?" The man chuckled.

"Wherever you like." He then went to his spot in the center of the staff table. Sephora looked around. All of the tables were long, too long for the little amount of students, barely over one hundred, and had many empty spaces. Two of the tables were not very welcoming of her looks: the one with a green and sliver and the one with bronze and blue. Both the yellow and the red tables seemed quite welcoming. The yellow one being closer, she sat there. The three newbies were surrounded by the returning students in a large clump. Sephora bravely sat in the middle of them. They silenced, but the girl to her right smiled.

"Hi, I'm Frideswide Garret. I'm a half-blood, too. Year one." Sephora smiled back.

"I'm Sephora Jacobson." Suddenly it seemed the whole Hufflepuff class started introducing themselves.

"Susanna." A small blonde.

"Ronald." A meek brunette.

"John." A brave redhead, surprisingly.

"Martha." A strong blonde.

More and more names were spewed out (there were eighteen of them) until all the introductions were finished except one. A short girl with a wide build sat across from Sephora, quietly waiting her turn. Her large green eyes stared deep into Sephora. When everyone was quiet she finally opened her mouth.

"She won't remember your names," she told them. "I am Joyce Young by the way. The resident muggleborn. Third year." Sephora bowed her head, knowing she was doing something not much done.

"It is a pleasure."

Mordred watched the strange girl across the room sitting with the Hufflepuffs. What was she doing there? Everything she did questioned every single one of his beliefs. Why was she talking to the mudblood? He frowned a bit and turned away, knowing now that they couldn't be friends for no Slytherin could walk the halls with his head held high and be friends with a mudblood lover at the same time. He quietly ate his dinner, suddenly quite ready for bed.

Professor Clark was a tall man, the one who had led the first years into the building. He had a grim face that seemed like it would never smile and a monocle dangled on a string near his heart. He was the head of Ravenclaw. He ordered Sephora to plug her ears while he whispered the password to the Headmaster's office. The gargoyle seemed somewhat amused at the man's effort and silently chuckled as he opened up the office. They entered. It was a large room with one whole wall dedicated to portraits of Headmasters past. They all examined her carefully. Sephora counted the eyes: 42. Twenty one was quite a lot of headmasters for a little more than five and a half century old school. Or maybe not, she realized as she thought about it more. She really was not that quick with math, maybe some schooling would help that.

While she was thinking about math and such, the Headmaster had entered. He lifted a white eyebrow as he sat in the chair in front of her, though she still stared at the portraits behind him. She wondered really how old the school was, but one of the boys had said that it was in the year 987 that the place was founded, but that was almost six hundred years ago… Another boy said 990, one even said 950. While Professor Maudit patiently waited, she contemplated on when Hogwarts could have been founded. Either way, she still thought there was a rather large amount of portraits.

Finally the old man coughed, annoyed enough with the young girl's musings.

"Try to do your musings in somebody else's office please. I have other things to attend to you know."

"Oh," she said moving his eyes to his. "Do we not have to wait until the Gamps arrive, sire?" Maudit's eyebrows rose. Did this girl think that a polite word would make boldness and disrespect alright? He was about to spout off about something when the fire lit up and out came two well dressed rich folk. Maudit calmed himself down and put on the most polite smile he could render for the guests. They all exchanged the usual pleasantries before heading onto the more serious business.

Nothing went strangley and by the end of the night Sephora had her wand and was part of the new Gryfinndor class.

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><p>An: if this idea seems interesting at all to you, please review. :) if not, don't waste your time, please.

Also. I do not claim any part of the making of Rowling's world. Though many of the details are mine, the basic premise is hers. Oh yes, I am not Shakespeare either, sorry. :P

So, a lot of thank to **the hp-lexicon** and different elizabethan names sites. I have an almost full list of characters but if you're reading and you know a really cool elizabethan, wizardish name, theeeeeen tell me :D


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